


Just about dawn

by Cilare



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Abstergo and the Templar Order, Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Assassin Dean Winchester, Assassin Mentor Bobby Singer (Kinda), Assassin Sam Winchester, Castiel vs Feelings, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Drama, Everything will be explained on time, Fluff, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Gabriel is more or less neutral, M/M, Sabriel is slightly background, Templar Castiel, They are not the same, but the focus is on Dean and Cas, mentions of torture, they will move the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cilare/pseuds/Cilare
Summary: The older assassin nodded and suddenly the Trickster was wearing that grin of his again.“Then I can tell you someone broke him out. I’ve never seen the Black Crosses in such disarray. And as you certainly know, it was not an Assassin.”Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, evening his breath. Having the Black Crosses after his ass was bad enough, them being the most skilled fighters among the templars, but this conversation was starting to worry him even more. Was there a third faction in this war of theirs? He was all for banding against the templars, but it wouldn’t be that easy. They weren’t that lucky.“I think,” The Trickster continued, “it was somebody in the Order. A rebel faction, maybe, or somebody who wants to use the Assassins to gain power. It’s not unheard of, really. But I’m positive you are not in their team, Winchester, so…”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is an homage to a Supernatural chapter I love. The work will follow the plot of that season for a short while and then everything will start moving away. Just so you know :)
> 
> Updates on Mondays, one chapter a week until Supernatural season 13 starts.

He woke up to the sounds of battle still playing on his head, the screams and the pain and that flash of light before it all went black. His hands reached for a weapon that was not there and only then he noticed the lack of ropes. He wasn’t bound in any way and when his eyes got used to the dim light crawling below the door he took an entire second to assess his surroundings. He was in some kind of shed or barrack, barely big enough to fit a standing man. The shelf on his left was empty, but there was no dust and no sight of cobwebs. This place had been cleaned recently and both fear and hope fought inside his chest. The fear he could live with, yet the hope… hope was dangerous, it pushed people to do reckless things. He hadn’t tried to escape for many weeks now, he hadn’t even considered it in the last days. And yet, after listening intently for about a minute, he threw himself against the door, using all his weight in a blow. 

Somehow it worked. Dean rolled by instinct and tensed, expecting a fight, but there was nobody there. There was nothing there, in fact: no buildings, no paths, no people as far as he could see. The sun was as beautiful as he remembered, warm against the bare skin on his arms. Maybe it was a trap, a ploy to squash the remainders of hope they hadn’t been able to kill until now, but maybe he was free. And if he wasn’t, he’d find a way to be. No templar would trap Dean Winchester again, that he promised. 

It was just about dawn when he started walking. 

 

He found the gas station empty, no cameras on sight and no cars in the parking lot. Picking the lock was just as easy as he’d expected, opening the fridge even more. He downed the first water bottle in a gulp and put other two in a travelling bag that was too expensive for his taste. There was no pie on sight, so he’d have to do with some granola bars, a new shirt and two pocket knives. After some doubts, he also put on a hoodie. He had missed the familiar weight of a hood over his head and even if the cameras were rolling outside, that may help distract the templars. It was wishful thinking and he knew it, but he indulged himself. He’d disappear soon enough. The map on the wall had all the information he needed. He wasn’t that far from Bobby’s, actually, and that was a worrying thought. 

Before the failed mission he would’ve had no doubts: Bobby was the closest thing to a leader the Assassins had, and even if he hadn’t been in the field for years, without him Abstergo, the newest templar name, would have won a long time ago. But Dean had been dead to the world for who knew how much. The last months would haunt him forever, he was sure, and yet the problem wasn’t that. No prisoner had ever escaped the Templars and the only man who had returned had been a traitor, a turncloak that had brought the downfall of the brotherhood. Dean remembered his father telling Bobby, so many years ago, and the hate in his voice could have made a grown man falter. 

He had no choice, though: with no money, no papers and on the run, he needed his old life back. He needed the Brotherhood. 

 

Knocking on Bobby’s door was even harder than he’d expected. He’d never thought he’d see Bobby again, yet there he was. And when the door opened, the surprise in Bobby’s eyes was enough to throw him off-balance for a second. So, in retrospect, he should’ve expected the attack. And thank God his instincts kicked in immediately: he parried Bobby’s blow with his arm and jumped inside the house, getting behind the nearest chair. 

“Bobby, it’s me, Dean.” He tried, to no avail. While it was a relief to hear the old assassin’s “My Ass”, undeniable proof that things hadn’t changed that much in his while he’d been away, he really wanted not to die. 

“Bobby, I need your help. Your name is Robert Steven Singer, you are the closest thing I have to a father.” He added. The older man stopped for a second, so Dean kept going. “You joined the Brotherhood after Abstergo murdered your wife.” 

Bobby took a step towards him, reaching out with the hand he wasn’t holding the knife with. Hope fluttered in Dean’s chest. And then Bobby attacked again. Dean had to use all his reflexes to disarm him, holding the weapon in a way that was as non-threatening as possible. 

“I’m not one of them and I haven’t been brainwashed. If I were, would I remember the little details they don’t know?” That wasn’t good enough. He had to try harder. “Would I come unarmed into your house, with no backup?” 

Maybe that was convincing enough, maybe Bobby wanted him to be alive as much as Dean was glad to be. The relief in the old man’s eyes was like the first sun of spring, clouded but less cautious, and yet there was still distrust in that gaze. That hurt. Of course, it also meant that Bobby was not behind his rescue. 

“But how?” The older man asked, and Dean shook his head. 

“I hoped it had been you.” Dean looked away for a second, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt. He really missed his hidden blade. That single second of distraction was enough for Bobby to get a scanner and put a hand to his neck, checking his clothes for any tracking device. As expected, there was none.

“I’m not a bait, either.” Dean found himself sighing, but Bobby merely shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. 

“Had to make sure.”

Yeah, Dean couldn’t blame him, but he also had more pressing concerns. “Do you think that… Sam? Where’s Sam?”

The old assassin reached for a bottle on a nearby shelf and brought down two glasses. “We’ll have to track him. I’m afraid we haven’t talked in a while.”

Dean was about to say something when Bobby cut him short. “The last months haven’t been easy on anyone. We thought you were dead.” And the sadness on that voice was enough to make Dean’s heart clench. 

“I will get his location,” The old man added, after a moment of silence. “You get a shower meanwhile. And Dean…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to see you, boy.” 

 

As his beloved car was now with Sam, it was Bobby who drove him to a nearly empty diner a few towns over. There was a couple in the bar and a man by himself in one of the farthest tables. The moment he saw Bobby the man waved and offered them a seat. 

“Sam will come.” Bobby told Dean, “But for now, you have an appointment. I cannot let you see Sam before.” He added, with an apologetic shrug. 

The man was very obviously waiting for them and it took a while for everything to click on Dean’s head. He had never seen him in person, but the pictures did him justice. 

“You’re the Trickster.” He blurted out, tensing. He’d heard many tales about him and the men he’d killed, but as far as he knew the Trickster was no Assassin. Was he their ally now? Judging by the cheeky smile the man was now wearing and Bobby’s grunt when he sat across him, apparently he was. 

“I am, indeed. And you are Dean Winchester.” Said the Trickster, watching him warily and opening a lollypop. “You’ve been the biggest talk in the templar private channels, Deano. I’m impressed.” The man now eyed Bobby. “With this we’ll be even, alright?”

The older assassin nodded and suddenly the Trickster was wearing that grin of his again.

“Then I can tell you someone broke him out. I’ve never seen the Black Crosses in such disarray. And as you certainly know, it was not an Assassin.”

Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, evening his breath. Having the Black Crosses after his ass was bad enough, them being the most skilled fighters among the templars, but this conversation was starting to worry him even more. Was there a third faction in this war of theirs? He was all for banding against the templars, but it wouldn’t be that easy. They weren’t that lucky. 

“I think,” The Trickster continued, “it was somebody in the Order. A rebel faction, maybe, or somebody who wants to use the Assassins to gain power. It’s not unheard of, really. But I’m positive you are not in their team, Winchester, so…”

But the Trickster never got to finish that sentence. The door opened with a clear pop and a second later Sam was crossing the room, something dangerous glittering in his eyes. There was no warning, one moment Dean was in the chair and then his back met the wall, a hand holding his chest and a fist on his neck. It took all of Bobby’s strength to hold Sam back. 

“It’s him. It’s really him.” Bobby told Sam, and Dean felt himself smiling. He’d missed Sam. Seeing him now, both alive and well, felt like somebody had taken quite a weight from his chest. 

“Heya, Sammy.” 

By the corner of his eye Dean saw the Trickster leaving, but now all his attention was focused on his little brother. He’d already stopped struggling and his smile, wry and cautious yet as full of relief as his own was more than enough to warm the rest of his heart. And when Sam, his Sammy, closed the gap between them and hugged him, Dean felt himself truly relax for the first time in ages. And yet he still had to ask. 

“You haven’t done anything monumentally stupid to get me back, haven’t you?” 

Sam opened his mouth, closed it and only then started talking again. Dean felt a wave of fear clawing against his chest, but when Sam shook his head it started to disappear. 

“I thought you were dead. We tried getting your body back, but the building… it’s only ashes now.” The anguish in the young assassin was as clear as the day. “If only I had known…” 

“That’s in the past. Don’t beat yourself over it.”

Sam nodded, visibly unconvinced, but let it go. A moment later he raised his left sleeve and started unclafting a hidden blade that Dean would recognize anywhere. It had been his father’s and even after Dean’s capture Sam had held on to it. And now it was back. Dean didn’t have many valuable possessions, but both that hidden blade and the Impala were his most priced ones. He’d been feeling naked without it and fastening it to his arm was just as liberating as the shower he’d had at Bobby’s. Dean was starting to feel like himself. 

“But how are you alive, Dean?”

And thus, they let Sam into the loop. 

 

Dean had just started cleaning his car garage and was on his way to remove the “Temporarily closed” sign that somebody (probably Bobby) had held on the door when a man on a trenchcoat walked in. He wore the best poker face Dean had seen in a long time, the kind of scruffy hair one got just after waking up and his eyes, as blue as they were cold, immediately started ringing all of Dean’s alarms. That man was dangerous, that he could say. When the assassin reached for the gun he always kept on hand and the intruder didn’t even frown, Dean was grateful that he had at last his hidden blade with him. 

“Who are you?” He asked, meeting the newcomer’s gaze. He was tempted to take a step back. 

The intruder tilted his head. “My name is Castiel. I’m a Knight of the Templar Order.”

And that was all the explanation Dean needed to jump on him. He’d fought templars before, he’d even held his own against two Black Crosses once. Most of them had been dead the second Dean lunged. The newcomer? He parried the blow with his arm and kept staring at him, completely unfazed. They were now, Dean noticed, uncomfortably close. But the man didn’t attack. 

“I am not here to fight you, Dean Winchester.” He said instead, and when the Assassin started to ask how on earth he knew his name, the intruder just frowned and kept talking. His voice was deep, calm, emotionless. 

“I was the one to carry you away from Abstergo.”

Dean couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice, not anymore. “And why would a templar save from his own order?” 

That managed to get a reaction from the newcomer. A glint crossed his eyes, he frowned for less than and half a second, and then again the poker face. But his voice was even lower now. 

“Do not confuse Abstergo with the Templar Order. They are my enemies as much as they are yours.”

Dean shook his head and actually took a step back. He needed more space and the situation was already uncomfortable enough. 

“What do you want from me?” 

“You will help us when the time comes.”

The Assassin couldn’t even ask him what he meant. As soon as he had finished speaking the man, Castiel, turned around and left, leaving behind a speechless Dean and a new set of prints on the dusty floor. 

Whatever that was going on, and Dean was getting more confused by the hour, it seemed that the templars had some kind of internal war going on. That was good. Them getting him out and asking for his help? Now that was worrying. He had no desire to help any kind of templar, even if they were moving against Abstergo, but if they had found him so easily… yeah, he needed to call Bobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far you deserve as many cookies as you could ever want. Like, seriously. But on a more serious note, this is my first work in English, the first fic I'm publishing here and well, comments, kudos and good vibes are enough to print a smile on my face. And you want me smiling, trust me, because a smiling writer means more drama, a lot of suffering and way enough fluff. 
> 
> By the way, I love you. Whoever you are, wherever you are, you have my kudos :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's monday again. One week less 'till season 13, thus one more chapter of this fic. I honestly like how this one turned out and I want to thank you all for your support <3

Going back to his life was not easy. Dean didn’t speak about the nightmares or the chills that crossed his back whenever he thought about those last months, and of course he didn’t even mention them. He’d been captured, he’d been freed and while some of the other Assassins looked at him funny when they thought he couldn’t see them, Dean had Sam and also Bobby, and he was back in the garage, getting his beloved car in prime shape.

In the end he hadn’t moved. It’s not that he wasn’t bothered by the Templars knowing where he worked, but Dean needed the normalcy and it should still be a couple of days until Bobby decided to send him on any kind of mission. Sam would come along, he always did, but for now Dean needed to get back into shape before he donned a sweatshirt and hid his face under its hood. 

Maybe that was the reason he was so surprised when Bobby called him. It was with a short “Go see your brother, he has all the details” that Dean found himself back in the game. It was time for his lunch break, so the timing was perfect. He’d be meeting this lawyer brother of his in less than half an hour.

Sam was waiting for him in his office, dressed in a suit and a tie and in complete contrast to Dean’s plaid shirt and denim trousers. The security guys knew him, fortunately, so he had next to no problem getting there anymore. And Sam was, as expected, eating some kind of salad with too much green thingies. 

“Look who’s here.” Sam joked, before getting up and opening one of his drawers. “You are not going to like this.”

And he was not wrong. As soon as they closed the door Sam started talking and it was just as bad as Dean could fear. Abstergo was onto something big. 

“Before you…” Sam looked away, something that looked too much like pain clouding his eyes for a second. “Before we lost you, a client of mine became one of Abstergo’s business partners. Name’s Fergus Crowley and I’ve been tracking him and his associates. About a month ago they all started investing in an excavation site about three hours from here. Bobby sent some initiates to do the job, seems like they actually found something about the Temple of Juno.”

“Isn’t that place supposed to be just a legend?” Dean, like most Assassins, had heard the tales about the place. Most of them disagreed about whatever that lay inside, but it was probably something bad. Something the templars would want.

“Apples of Eden were supposed to be a Legend,” was his brother’s defense, “and yet those little mind-control golden gadgets have shaped history.”

And that was, Dean conceded, a fair point. 

“Do we go and stop them?”

Sam shook his head. “An apprentice went there two days ago. She killed Abstergo’s puppet, but they’ve sent someone to get the information and bring it back to their evil lair. We are going to go investigate the murder, make sure it’s untraceable and then we’ll also get the messenger and the information.”

“Sounds like a plan. Are we leaving tonight?”

“Yeah. Bring the suit, and the FBI badges. I’ll call you when I finish dealing with Crowley.” 

Dean nodded, stretching his back. Something cracked. “Does he talk to the dead?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Dean.” 

 

It took about half an hour to stock the car and when Sam finally appeared, thankfully wearing plaid, Dean was able to fool himself for a second and believe that the mission that had nearly cost Sammy’s life had never happened. If Dean hadn’t changed the plan at the last moment it would have been his little brother that the templars would’ve caught. He didn’t regret it one bit, but it still weighed between them. Dean didn’t want to talk about those months and Sam wouldn’t press, yeah, but the glances and the worry in Sam’s face were painful to see. It would take a long time for the Brotherhood to trust him again. 

It didn’t help that the Templars were already there when they checked in at the local Motel, and by the Templars Dean meant Castiel. The man was once again wearing a trenchcoat over a suit and looking as if he had just woken up from a nap. Did the guy ever use a mirror? Probably not. Castiel was once again staring at him, and the moment Sam crossed the threshold, Castiel offered him a hand. Again he was wearing the poker face. 

“You are Sam Winchester. It is an honor to meet you. I am Castiel.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow, but shook Castiel’s hand with the one that didn’t have the hidden blade. Dean took half a step forward, as worried as he was annoyed. 

“What are you doing here?”

Castiel didn’t seem at all bothered by his tone. “I have been sent here to be of assistance. You are here to ensure some documents belonging to Abstergo are not delivered and it is my duty to make sure you accomplish your mission.”

Sam closed the door after a brief look outside. “I don’t believe you.” He said, and Dean nodded his approval. Savior or not, that man was a templar and Dean had nothing but contempt for those men. 

Castiel tilted his head. “I’m not lying to you, Dean. The Order will be watching over you, we will ensure your safety.”

And that was the creepiest thing he had been told all day, so he had no qualms about telling Castiel where to stick it. He was aware that any other Assassin would have made a move at the intruder by now, but given how easily he’d defected his blow before, he preferred caution. The fact that he had not hurt anybody yet was not a guarantee and that last sentence was halfway to a threat. But hey, now Castiel looked offended. 

“You have no choice in the matter.” 

Dean shook his head. “There is always a choice.”

The templar stood silent for a moment and then looked away. It was very brief, but not enough for Dean not to notice. He felt Sam tensing beside him. When Castiel spoke again, his voice was quieter. 

“You have five hours. The data cannot reach Abstergo, and thus adequate measures have been taken.” He admitted. 

And that crossed the line. Templar inside wars were none of their business and Dean knew that the moment he moved, Sam would back him. But he still needed the information, and maybe this so called Knight would be kind enough to provide without resorting to pain. 

“What kind of measures?”

Castiel was wise enough to take a step back, and yet his expression didn’t shift at all. “If you fail to obtain the data or you give me the order, the city will be destroyed.”

Dean paled and waited no more, lunging at Castiel and grabbing him by the tie. Sam was at the templar’s back in less than a second, preventing his movements. Their victim didn’t even twitch. 

“Whether I am alive or not doesn’t impact the security measures.” He muttered, and Dean forced him to meet his gaze. 

“I don’t care. Your Order brought me back from Abstergo’s clutches and I’m sure it was not only for this data.” He growled. It was a very big assumption to make, but it was what he had. “I refuse those security measures of yours, so listen to me clearly. The city won’t blow up, and you better make sure it doesn’t. Whether we have or not the data doesn’t matter, I won’t have the blood of so many people in my hands. If I have to stay here so that you don’t, then I will. Am I clear?” 

Castiel’s lip twitched in what could have been the shadow of a smile. “It would not be in your hands.”

“What?”

“It would be on mine. Not on yours.” The templar clarified, still completely calm. Either the man was a great actor or he was completely mad. 

“Choosing not to act is not so different from pulling the trigger myself.” Dean added, after a while. 

Castiel tilted his head. “Does your brother agree with your worldview?”

Sam nodded, leaving the templar’s back at Dean’s gesture. “I do.”

“Then I take my leave.”

In a swift motion, Castiel broke through Dean’s grip and started walking towards the door, his steps completely silent. Dean let him go.

 

Only then did Dean meet his brother’s gaze. They’d have to talk later. “We are leaving this place. We are calling Bobby, we’ll get the data and then we’ll make sure nothing blows up.”

“We aren’t giving Castiel the data.” Sam’s voice left no place for arguing.

“Of course we aren’t, we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. But for now, we’re moving.”

And they did, and then Sam started working. Dean had always been a better fighter but his brother was the one that could hack into anything. Considering he was a practicing lawyer, he was pretty good at breaking the law. They had a lead on the place where they were keeping the documents thanks to the apprentice that had taken the job first, but the building had way too many offices to allow for a less than stellar attack. They needed to know which one they were breaking into and, given the lack of Abstergo employees nesting there, they’d have to work with the name and picture of the first messenger. It was easy enough.

They left their new motel through the kitchen, picking the lock on the way and making sure the hallway was completely deserted. Dean had memorized the location of all the cameras and they’d switched their phones off as soon as they’d left the room. Hopefully Castiel wouldn’t be able to track them now, but he was sure the templar would find some way. They still had three hours and a half. One for the data, the others to find Castiel and protect the City.

 

Getting into the building was the easy part. They both wore dark grey clothes with comfy hoods, those being the trademark of the Brotherhood. On most missions both would wear suits and identify as members of some kind of security corps for easy information and infiltration, but that night they were going to do old-fashioned document stealing and thus they were carrying only a concealed gun and their hidden blades. 

Going through the front door was usually the easiest way to get into a building, but that one had some good security and they settled for climbing from the back of the building. Keeping an eye for witnesses was the hardest part of the job, but they had always managed and that time was no different. They found the window that met with the right hallway soon enough. Finding the right office took them five more minutes of silent walking and listening. There was no light under the door, though, and Sam had already started picking the lock when they heard an intruder. 

Their eyes didn’t even meet: Sam increased his efforts and Dean ran in that direction, the wooden floor creaking only once. The intruder turned the corner just as Dean grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the ground, grunting only once before going completely limp. The fear in the poor boy’s face -because he couldn’t be more than twenty- was as clear as a summer day. 

“Who are you?” Dean growled, making sure the boy had no weapons on him. He found a pocket knife in his trousers, but nothing else. The boy mumbled something. Dean was going to ask again when he heard that deep voice he’d been hearing way too much. 

“He is the messenger.” And as expected Castiel was there, watching them intently. “I’ve been following him.” 

Dean had way too many questions about that last statement, but before he could choose one the door clicked open and the hallway became a battlefield. 

The moment Sam opened the door somebody pounced on him. He had just enough time to fend off the first attacker when another pointed a gun to his chest. Dean had knocked his prisoner out as soon as the door had been opened, but he was still too far away. He scrambled to his feet, well aware that he was too far away to interfere, when he saw the blur of an old trench coat with a templar inside. There was a gurgle, a man fell to the ground and Dean saw with the biggest relief how Sam finished off the second attacker with a flick of his hidden blade. 

Sam and Castiel stared at each other for a second, then the templar took a step back. 

“It’s better if you deal with the data. Do you require my assistance any further?” He asked them. There might have been some sarcasm in his voice, for he turned around and left without waiting for an answer. 

Dean signaled for his brother to go inside the room while he kept watch for security or some kind of templar envoy. He’d been harboring suspicions after the Castiel’s first appearance, yes, but now he was completely sure that something dangerous was going on. No templar would let data go that easily. 

 

It had been a few hours and yet it still took all of his good will not to jump on Castiel’s neck when he saw him sitting on the bench besides the garage, again wearing that old trench coat of his. After a second, Dean sat besides him.

“Today. The messenger. What’s going on, Castiel?” He asked, trying to be civil. The templar didn’t even twitch. 

“My orders,” Castiel started. Dean didn’t let him finish. 

“I don’t care about your orders. Tell me what’s really going on. Now.”

The templar glared at him. “My orders were to make sure the messenger didn’t get to that door.” He finished. “We needed to watch you and your brother in a field situation. It was a test. Tell me, why didn’t you kill the messenger?”

Dean shrugged. “He was no templar, he was not carrying weapons and unlike you, he was not my enemy. Like all the people that would have died if you’d blown the city up. You know why I’m not killing you, Castiel?”

The templar didn’t seem bothered by the question. “You are not fast enough. You have questions, also, and you know that I were to die, my superiors would simply send another agent.”

“No.” Dean huffed. “I am not killing you because you saved Sam. That’s it.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “It was my job. But thank you. And thank you for not choosing to blow the city up.”

“Yeah, well. I meant what I said.” 

They spent the next minute in some semblance of a companionable silence, Castiel watching the sky and Dean watching that weird templar agent that either believed him not to be a threat or didn’t have any kind of self preservation instincts. It was him who spoke again, his voice softer. 

“If I tell you something, Dean, will you keep it a secret?”

And that was unexpected, to say the least. But Dean found himself nodding. “Go on.”

“I am not the kind of weapon you believe me to be. I don’t like the blood on my hands, I have doubts. And while I have my duty to the Templar Order, I am glad I was allowed to rescue a man of honor.” 

There was the shadow of a smile on the corner of his mouth and Dean found himself relaxing, if only a little. 

“None of us is a good man. But we can always try, Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? It's monday again :D
> 
> So just as promised, this is the third chapter. I'm really enjoying writing this, so thank you for making it here with me <3

The Trickster took a seat uninvited, crossed his legs and waited. Sam had to remind himself not to smile while he finished reading the paper and only then did he greet the newcomer. They were past the handshakes, yet Sam offered his hand nonetheless. The Trickster’s grip was strong, calm, confident, not unlike many Templars’, but there was a warmth in his eyes he had never seen in those of the enemy. Sam shouldn’t say that he trusted the man, but he did. They didn’t talk about their past or their families yet they did sometimes have lunch or coffee. Their daily topics ranged from politics to philosophy and while the Trickster’s behaviour was usually childish and carefree, Sam hadn’t been surprised to find quite some depth to the man. That and a name, Gabriel. 

What he hadn’t expected was to find him there that morning, serious and dark. 

“Is this room secure?” He'd asked, dropping the facade, and Sam had closed the door and the phones with a button on his desk. 

“Now it is.” Was his answer. 

Gabriel didn’t need any more convincing to speak. 

“It has come to my knowledge that you’ve been meeting with my little brother. Castiel.” He added, after a beat. “I come to inquire about his… well-being.”

The crease of his brow was enough to convey all the meaning of his question and Sam tried to give the man his best reassuring smile. He only got to the lawyer smile, though. 

“He’s alive, as far as I know.” He told him, before his curiosity got the better of him. “Did he really save Dean? Are you two close?” Only then did he realize his question. “Look, ok, ignore that last…”

But Gabriel only looked relieved. “Don’t worry. He took your brother from the Abstergo club and brought it back, and that’s saying something because not even I knew that he’d been taken prisoner.” He shrugged. “But we were close once. It’s in the past now, but I still care about him.” He added, with a shrug. “He’s not the funniest of the templars, but he has something in his chest that we could even call a heart. He may also have morals, but he could learn a thing or two.” 

“Who from, Gabriel? You?” And the question didn’t carry much heat. 

The Trickster grinned. “Maybe. I could teach him some sense of humor too, he really needs it.” And then his gaze was dark again. “I am dead to him, though, so let’s keep it that way, Sam.” 

The lawyer nodded. Something had shifted in the Trickster, maybe the way he was sitting or the way he held himself. His eyes now held a gravity they hadn’t held before. It was only for a second, though, and then it was the Trickster again in front of him. 

He’d already risen when Sam spoke. “He’s still your brother. At least consider seeing him.”

The trickster just nodded, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. He’d just learnt some interesting facts that could really change the game. 

 

Something moved. The house was empty, the garage below was even emptier on the early morning. But something had moved. Dean held his breath for half a second and then struck. He hadn’t expected to hit Castiel and he didn’t, but finding the templar still as a statue and watching him was unsettling enough. 

“Don’t you know about personal space, man?”

The templar tilted his head. “My apologies. My people skills may be rusty.” 

“Rusty skills my ass.” Dean grumbled. “I’m positive you don’t even have them.” 

At that, Castiel tilted his head, his brow furrowed in annoyance. But then he nodded and got back to his usual poker face. 

“I have been sent to give you information on your next mission. The templar order requires only this next objective and then we will consider you cleared of your debt. We will also refrain from sending our hitmen against you or your brother”. 

Dean scoffed. “I am not your hitman, either. Why are you so sure I’ll accept?”

“You are a man of honor.” And if the assassin was reading the templar correctly, he was puzzled. 

It was scary how easily he was getting used to read him. It was also scary that he found himself liking the quizzical look on the templar. It made him look more human, less machine. 

“My honor means that I’m not jumping on your throat as many times as needed until I get it right, not that I am your attack dog. But very well, I am listening. What does your holy order require from me?” Even if he wasn't going to accept, Bobby would like the information. The more the templar talked, the more chances Dean had at getting leads on how to destroy that particular faction of his enemies. 

Castiel looked away for a second. “Are you familiar with Apples of Eden?”

Oh, that was bad. Like, very bad. “Yeah, man.” And who wasn’t? 

The templar nodded, vaguely pleased. “Then you are aware of how important is to keep them from being misused. It has come to our knowledge that there was one such artifact hidden by a traitor amongst our ranks, centuries ago, and now Abstergo has tracked his descendant. He may be held hostage in the same facility you were taken. It’s of tantamount importance that he is either killed or rescued.” He added. 

But Dean wasn’t listening anymore. During the day he tried to suppress the memories, the lives he’d revived while a prisoner of the templars, the story of his ancestors and their quest to protect the world from the evil order that had always been a threat. He remembered every minute of it, he remembered breaking free from the simulation day and day again, fighting the pain, the punishments, the excruciating migraines. But it all came in a rush and Dean’s step faltered on his way to the kitchen. He heard Castiel take a step towards him but Dean’s glare was enough to stop him in his tracks. 

“We can leave when you are ready.” He heard the templar mutter. 

After a while Dean managed to get his breath under control and then he shook his head. “Not yet.” He shivered. “Not yet.”

There was no way he was taking up that mission. Absolutely no way. The poor chap that Abstergo held had to be rescued, yeah, but they could send somebody else. Then he remembered the last rescue mission he had faced and the way it had ended. He wouldn’t let anybody take that kind of risk. He couldn’t. 

“I need to fix the Impala first. I will take me a while.” He muttered, shaking his head. He needed the time to think. Then he gazed at Castiel, still silent and poker faced. “You want to help?”

He’d littered the question with a heavy dose of sarcasm, maybe more than it was actually needed, so he hadn’t expected the templar to accept. He did, though, and a second later Dean had his own templar shadow following him to the garage. 

“Would you be so kind as to explain me what those machines do?” And there was no heat behind the question, just an honest and genuine curiosity that actually surprised Dean. But the Assassin was not really worried about the templar taking over the business, though, so he started showing him around and explaining. 

He’d expected the templar to get tired of the explanation soon enough, not to have him asking questions. And good questions at that, the ones that Dean found that were fun to answer. He loved his work with passion and while normally he wouldn’t be caught dead geeking about it, there was something about Castiel’s earnest interest that had him chatting about cars and engines and the bizarre ways in which people broke them. 

He’d also expected the templar to be annoyed when he started working on his beloved car, but Cas kept asking question and when Dean asked him to get one of the wrenches, he did it without question. 

“So it seems you like cars as much as I do, Cas.” Dean joked, before realizing the nickname. But Castiel didn’t sound annoyed when he answered, just slightly sheepish. 

“I don’t really know about them. I’m usually driven to places, or I get taxis. When one of them breaks, I usually send some underling.” He admitted. “I didn’t know they were that complex.”

“They really are fascinating, man.” Dean grinned. “You should drive yourself more often. I find it relaxing.” 

Castiel shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I may, from now on. I am sure my usual driver would be delighted.” 

“Are you that bad of a boss?” Dean joked.

The templar stiffened for a second and the relaxed again. His smile didn’t come back, though, and Dean couldn’t but feel that he’d broken the moment. He’d been enjoying Castiel’s company, in some strange way, but now he’d just reminded both of them of the differences between their stations. 

“I do care about my underlings.” Cas muttered. “But I cannot be as lenient as I would like to be.”

Dean didn’t press the issue. They shared a beer on the kitchen, and Castiel kept asking about cars, but whatever they’d had between them, they’d just lost it. 

 

They left a message for Sam as soon as they left, a simple “I’ll return, if I don’t, tell Bobby.” They specified no direction and Dean tried to calm his mind by repeating that he was protecting Sam. Dean wouldn’t kill an innocent and Castiel hadn’t complained, but there was still the coolness around them. Bobby would be furious when he knew how much he was trusting the templar there, but so far Cas hadn’t been anything less than truthful. If he’d wanted him prisoner or killed, it’s not as if he hadn’t had some very good chances. 

“How long, Cas?”

The templar tilted his head before answering. “If you are talking about expected time of arrival, about three hours.” 

“Yeah, that was it.” And so they drove, Dean blasting Metallica for all the neighborhood to hear. Surprisingly enough, after a while, he found Cas had closed his eyes, drumming his fingers on the seat to the beat of the current song. Templar or not, he had good taste in music. And even if they were only talking when Dean asked for directions and Cas complied, the Assassin didn’t mind the silence. It was better that way, he needed to get into the mood. What they were doing was insanely dangerous and even if Castiel had shown him the maps and helped him come to a plan, Dean was confident that soon enough they would have to improvise. Templar or not, Cas was beside a Winchester and those things were unavoidable. 

 

 

In any other circumstance Castiel would have been nervous, at the very least. Working beside an assassin was a surefire way to get betrayed and killed, that was public knowledge, yet Dean had something about him that managed to soothe his fears. He’d chosen wrong his pawn. He should have taken some bloodthirsty murderer they could use for a while and then discard, and yet Castiel had chosen the kind of prisoner that had sacrificed himself for another. Castiel had listened to the voice in his head that training had taught him to ignore and now he wasn’t really sure about his next move. He'd enjoyed talking to Dean, learning about his passion, being a part of that small universe of peace. It had been years since he'd felt so at ease with anybody, maybe even before Gabriel’s death. 

So if he didn’t meet the Assassin’s eyes when they stopped, away enough from the target building to get into some better clothes and go again through the entrance plan, maybe he did it because he couldn’t go into battle with anything less than perfect calm. Castiel was a soldier, a Black Cross, the best the order had. He was stronger than this. 

 

Most of the mission went through in a blur. The building was centric enough to go on foot and no matter how much Castiel missed his trenchcoat, he’d chosen his best dark jeans and a black shirt. Dean walked besides him with a much less formal attire, his face obscured by a hood, but they knew the location of the cameras and a call was enough to disable them for about five minutes. This plan had the full support of the order and maybe it was slightly childish, wanting to show off that much, but getting the man they were after would be a good declaration of intentions. Abstergo had no place in the new world order. 

And then there was battle. Five security guards after getting to the stairs, all armed, all dead before they knew what was going on. Dean was brutal, Castiel was efficient, and the templar tried not to think about how they made a good team. 

They still had a good ten minutes before Abstergo’s reinforcements arrived when they found the Animus and the prisoner cells. And then Dean froze. A shiver crossed his back, he doubted his next step and when Castiel lightly pressed his hand against Dean’s shoulder, the templar found himself with the Assassin’s hidden blade pressed to his throat. 

There was a beat. Castiel steeled himself, met Dean’s eyes and tried to smile. And then Dean took a shaky step back. 

“Man, I’m…”

But he never got to finish the sentence. There they came the steps and a lanky, balding long-faced man made his appearance through one of the side doors. 

“Dean Winchester.” He wheezed. And the Assassin jumped on him. It was awe-inspiring to see, that Castiel had to admit. How there could be so much hate in just a leap, in the snarl of a hooded man, in the way he muttered a very clear “You are dead.”

Castiel saw his chance there. He was a soldier, he was a warrior and he ran to the prisoner cells, searching for the number he’d been mailed. He also had a name: Kevin Tran. Behind him two grown men were fighting and Castiel tried to shush all the instincts telling him that Dean was going to die. Alastair was stronger, faster, much less clouded by hate. 

Castiel looked back once and that was his undoing. He was faced with a choice between honor and duty and he’d been trained to choose duty. That day he picked honor and when he parried Alastair’s knife, when he got himself between the templar’s gun and the Assassin fated to be his victim, he could only laugh at how screwed he was. 

There was a thump, Castiel noticed, maybe his own body going thump. There were new voices, new steps, the hiss of a hidden blade and then a voice Castiel had nearly forgotten. 

“Is he… ?” Gabriel’s voice asked, and Castiel nodded. His own hands were sticky with blood, either his or another’s, and the Black Cross still had a chance to nod, slightly dazed. 

“I’m dead.” Cas muttered. Maybe he was a little overdramatic or maybe the darkness was already closing in, but as Dean’s background yelling started to fade, Castiel had the certainty that he would leave the world by saying the truth. After all, Gabriel was dead, and he was no medium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yesterday I made a tumblr sideblog both for this fic and for the supernatural and AC fandom. Url's templarcastiel.tumblr.com/
> 
> I may post snippets of future chapters, updates and general fangirling, so anybody's welcome to take a look. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank everybody for the kudos, for the views and for the bookmarks, you can't imagine how they cheer my day <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And somehow we're getting to the middle of the fic. Just another five weeks :D
> 
> Warning: This is kind of a breather episode. Contains fluff.

Castiel slept for three days straight and waited until dawn to wake up. He couldn’t have known it, of course, but Dean still found it amusing that his flair for the dramatic was that subconscious. And when he first moved Dean was there, offering him water and helping him to sit up. 

“You took your time.” Dean muttered, but even he could hear the relief in his voice. “You are in my house.” He added before the templar could ask him. “We had a neutral doctor fix you up and the brought you here. We couldn’t contact your people, I’m sorry” 

Castiel tilted his head, both curious and wary. “Why?” 

The Assassin had expected something else. He was tired, he should be getting ready to open the garage and he’d been sleeping on the couch for way too many nights. He felt it was understandable if he was a little dense.

“Why what?”

Castiel kept staring for a moment longer. “Why am I still alive, Dean? I will not speak under torture nor will I disclose private information about the order.” He sounded tired and maybe, just maybe, slightly afraid. Had Dean been any less tired he may have been offended. 

“Man, it’s not like that” He blurted before thinking it through. “You took a bullet for me. Of course I couldn’t let you die, you idiot.” 

The surprise in the templar’s face was nearly enough to make Dean giggle. It made him look cute, younger, human. He mustn’t be older than Dean, truth be told, but Dean wasn’t going to ask. And when Castiel smiled, even if he just raised the corners of his lip, Dean was forced to leave the room before he started grinning. Oh, yes, he still had a lot of questions, but they could wait for a while. 

Five minutes later he was bringing the breakfast to the bed and Castiel thanked him with that unwavering politeness of his. He’d also set the security system on the car garage to sent him a notification if anybody entered, so he could maybe spend some more time watching over that weird templar addition to the team. 

“Just so you know, we got the boy. It’s under Assassin protection.” 

Castiel nodded, apparently satisfied. “Am I your prisoner?” He asked, as blunt as usual. 

And for that, Dean didn’t really have a good answer. 

“I cannot let you leave until I’m sure you can move on your own, and well, you need to meet somebody. After that, you are free. I owe you my life.” 

Cas nodded again. “It’s fair. But you owe me nothing, Dean. I was just doing my job.” 

And that’s when Dean glared at him. “You weren’t. You were supposed to kill me. I know your orders. You are a weird templar, man.” 

For a second Castiel defaulted to his poker face. Then it slowly crumbled. On another templar it would have been hilarious to watch, in him it was slightly worrying.

“How? How do you know?” He was tense again, defensive. Dean tried to assure him it was all right. 

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you. And I don’t understand you, either. Everything would be way easier if you just behaved like a typical templar. So why don’t you?”

Castiel tilted his head again. “I was under the impression you were not contrary to my last actions.”

Dean nearly facepalmed. “That’s not what I meant. I am glad you didn’t backstab me out there, Cas. It’s just…”

But the templar laughed softly and Dean couldn’t imagine the pain he was now in. 

“If it helps,” Cas started, “it was a most unusual order. There was no point in getting you back from Abstergo just for me to kill you after two missions.” He shrugged. 

And Dean had to admit Cas had a point. “Won’t that get you in trouble?” He asked, softly. 

The templar looked away. “My services has been flawless up until that point. I will deal with it in its due time.” 

Dean nodded, unconvinced, and the silence returned. Dean was on his way to leave the room and let the poor man rest when Castiel talked again. 

“I don’t regret it, Dean. The world’s a dark enough place without killing a good man.”

 

The moment the garage was clear of customers Dean brought out his phone and called Bobby. 

“He’s awake.” He breathed out. 

Bobby grunted. “What did you expect? Templars don’t really die unless you kill them, they’re annoying like that.” He added. “Got any intel on him?” 

“He admitted he went against orders. I will talk to him later, I’ll try to find out more if you want me to. It’s just…” 

“You feel you owe him something.” Bobby was as scarily perceptive as usual. “Get yourself together, boy. You are the best we have, and I trust your judgement. We could do with a mole or even with him joining our ranks. But for now, he's still a templar. Be careful, Dean.” 

The Assassin nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

It was Bobby who cut the call. The old Mentor had never been a man to give praise just because and Dean had always deferred to him when something had been off in a mission, or when following a templar. But now Bobby said he trusted Dean’s judgement when Dean himself didn’t know what to make about it. His heart told him that Castiel was not the evil moustache-twirling villain Dean usually found himself facing, but his mind was adamant: all templars were monsters, none had ever been anything less than affably evil. They wanted to rule the world and they didn’t care about the casualties. He couldn’t trust Castiel. 

The problem? He already did. 

 

When Dean came back, Cas hadn’t moved. He was still sitting on the bed, watching the sky through the window and smiling softly. As soon as he saw Dean, the smile grew somewhat slightly. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

The Assassin huffed, but smiled nonetheless. “Feel good enough to have lunch with me, Cas?” He offered. And when the templar tilted his head and then nodded, the Assassin couldn’t help feeling a little warm inside. 

“It would be an honor.”

And so Dean cooked for them both. Cas hovered around him, curious and inquisitive, and when Dean jokingly offered to answer his questions, the templar started asking. It was mainly about the cooking, but soon enough they were again talking about cars and maybe Dean shouldn’t be so glad that Cas remembered everything they talked about, but he was. Cas didn’t ask about the assassins, Dean didn’t mention the templars and after a while, Cas started following Dean’s orders and they were both cooking for two. 

“I know there’s a lot, but bear with me.” Dean joked, and Cas even cracked a smile. 

“Did you go to some kind of cooking school?” He asked, and the question is so innocent that Dean didn’t even consider it before he answered.

“I basically raised Sam. And then, well, I’m the one who does the barbecues in the Brotherhood.” 

Cas didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He just tasted the food and nodded. “It’s really good. Sam is very fortunate.” He added, and Dean, frozen as he was, couldn’t hear any threat in his voice. “I wish I had such a relationship with my own brothers.” 

And Dean slowly relaxed again. “I care a lot about my family.” He shrugged. “It’s been like that for generations.” He added, before he could really think about it. 

Cas tilted his head. “Are you talking about your ancestors?”

It all came back again. The shivers, the memories, the headache. But now there was a hand in his back, muttering softly in some foreign language and after a while Dean managed to breathe normally again. He meet Cas’ gaze without flinching and the templar looked stricken.

“My deepest apologies, Dean. This was not my intention.” He muttered.

Dean shook his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I assume you know all about it, since you rescued me and all that.” 

Castiel nodded, slowly. “Do you… really want me to talk about it?” He spoke slowly and with caution. Dean was sweating again, but his gaze didn’t waver. 

“Yes.”

So the roles were reversed and, for all the silence he usually got from Cas, there was no doubt the man knew how to tell a story.

 

“When I was sent to rescue you, some of my best men copied and stole the footage from your ancestor’s memories. Most of it was corrupt and could barely be read, but the main mission was to get you out. We didn’t know, back then, about the existence of Kevin Tran. We had no reason to suspect that your ancestor, once the Mentor of the French Brotherhood, had passed the Apple of Eden down to his lieutenant. You never got to that part of the animus. No, my knowledge comes from the memories of my own ancestor, the Templar Grand Master at the time yours was the Mentor.”

And so he talked about a father drunk with power, about an enmity born from centuries of fight, about a young man who brought the templars to greatness just to fall prey to the power he wielded. He talked about a sister, young and brave, but dead nevertheless after an Assassin found out her name. He talked about the power the Apple allowed him to wield and how it slowly eroded his sense of self. But he also talked about an assassin born from aristocrats, a former best friend who first became an enemy and then became The Enemy. 

“He was a cautionary tale, Dean.” Cas said. “About the dangers of letting one’s power rule over oneself.”

“I... I don’t agree, not really.” And when Cas tilted his head, Dean went on. “They both made crappy choices. In a way, they both tried to do good. You just cannot free the world by ruling it, Cas.” 

The templar did not lose his smile. “I believed you would think so, Dean. You are an Assassin.”

He met Cas’ gaze, unflinching. “You are a templar. Have we changed so little? Do you really want to rule the world?” 

And then Cas looked away. “I… “ He sighed. “I told you once that I had doubts. I am a soldier, not a leader. But if I had a chance to bring peace to the world, I want to think that I would take it. Even if the price was me.” 

Dean stared at him. He stared at the man he’d started to see as a possible ally, maybe even a friend, and then slowly shook his head. “I won’t let you. I’ll always be there to stop you, Cas. You’re much better than this.” He added. “I’ve met many templars in all my years as an assassin and most of them were monsters. You aren’t. Please don’t become one.”

“I may not have a choice, Dean.” He breathed. 

Dean took his hand. “We always have a choice.”

Cas didn’t answer, but he didn’t take his hand back. And when Dean got up to wash the dishes, Castiel followed him, still lost in thought, still a welcome shadow in Dean’s personal space. 

 

It was that same afternoon that the doctor, a balding middle-aged man way too familiar with the Assassins to ask too many questions, got a look at Castiel and gave his approval. 

“You would have been dead without your vest, but don’t go pulling those stunts.” He muttered, and then he left. Dean had payed in advance, so it was dealt with and there was only one thing left to do before Castiel was completely allowed to leave. That gave Dean mixed feelings. On the one hand, he didn’t mind the company. The templar was comfortable to be with, easy to talk to and bluntly honest when Dean asked him any question. The Assassin was starting to believe Cas couldn’t surprise him any more when the templar pulled a notebook from his usual trench coat and scribbled something. 

“It’s only fair.” He said, giving Dean the paper. “I know where to reach you. I can be found here, if you ever require my assistance in any matter. I am indebted to you and I greatly enjoyed your company.” He admitted, without looking away. 

Dean gaped, stunned, and then accepted the paper with a nod. “Does that mean I won’t be having a Black Cross over for dinner?” He tried to joke. 

Castiel actually smiled at that. “I don’t think I will be ordered to come here any more. If you have any need of my services or desire to talk, just sent a messenger to that address with a day and a time, and I will make sure to appwar.” 

Dean nodded, unable to speak for a moment. “That is… thank you, Cas.” 

The templar’s smile grew brighter. “You’re welcome.” And then he stopped in his tracks. “May I ask who are we meeting?” 

“I don’t know much about him. They call him the Trickster, we’ve dealt with him sometimes. He came with Sam and rescued us.” He added. 

Cas’ knuckles went white. He tensed, visibly. Way too visibly. Dean seriously considered cancelling it. 

“I can try to find a way about it.” He offered.

Castiel shook his head, then took a deep breath. “No. Please, let’s go. I… I think I know him.”

Well, it was not surprising. Most templars knew each other, perks of the job, and Dean still felt the frontier between Templars and Abstergo templars was kind of blurry. But still, the Trickster had always seemed more like a wild card. Bobby had even trusted his judgement and that was not easily said. 

 

The building they were supposed to meet in was small, crowded with too many offices and no ground floor security. There was only Sam, there, watching something on his phone, and the moment they stepped into the corridor the assassin’s face lit up. He tapped Dean’s shoulder and shook Castiel’s hand. 

“The Trickster is expecting us and I still need to deal with some clients.” He half-apologized. 

Castiel simply nodded. “Of course, let’s proceed.” And even though he was not carrying any weapons, he still looked completely relaxed. 

It all crumbled the moment they saw the Trickster. Sam closed the door behind them, they all sat before a great oak desk devoid of papers and the Trickster smiled, still munching on a lollypop. 

“Sam, Dean-o, bro.” Was his introduction. 

Dean could see Cas was as white as a sheet. “You are dead, Gabriel.” 

The Trickster smiled, low and dangerous. Dean found himself feeling protective of Cas, no matter how senseless that was. 

“I am not dead.” Gabriel sighed. “But I will be if you rat me out. You will be, too, it would be most unfortunate. Nah, I’ve not called you here just to threaten you.” 

Cas just nodded, Dean was positively bristling and Gabriel’s smile was even more wolfish. Sam just looked nonplussed and that Dean would have to discuss. Someday. His brother was spending too much time with this Trickster. 

“Look, we’d rather be on the move, you know.” Dean interfered. Cas didn’t even twitch, Gabriel stared at him with the clearest annoyance Dean had ever seen on his face. He just rolled his eyes, though, and moved his stare to Castiel. 

“You have to stop Mikey. That which our big bro is planning, you must bring it to an end." He warned. "I came to your rescue and I hope you still have the sense to owe me something.” He finished, opening a candy bar. 

Castiel was non-plussed. “I have no authority over him.”

“Find a way.” 

And with that, before Dean could ask about whatever they were talking about, the Trickster left the room and Dean was forced to follow his brother and his templar outside. 

“What was that all about?” He grumbled, getting his hood up. 

Castiel flashed him a smile. “It is not the time for that conversation.” He sounded completely sincere. Dean tried to grab his shoulder, the templar just took a step back. Then he bowed, curt and polite. “I will always be in your debt, Dean Winchester. Samuel Winchester.” 

And the templar in a trenchcoat walked into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what did you think about this chapter? Too much fluff? You want more fluff? Because if you want drama, worry not. It's on its way. 
> 
> And thank everybody for the views, kudos and bookmarks <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is chapter five, wow. I can't believe we've made it this far. But it's Monday again and as promised, here you are :D

The day Sam disappeared, most people didn’t even notice. They may have, had they known the truth behind it all, but humanity tends to love being blissfully ignorant.

Bobby noticed, though, and he was the first. Sam was supposed to report back after a reconnaissance mission, and he was already an hour late. Sam had only reported late once, the night Dean had been taken prisoner.

Dean noticed half an hour later, because it was long before dawn and he never slept well when Sam was on a mission by himself. They hardly ever went separately, and this time it had been an emergency. When Bobby called, Dean’s heart danced claqué on his chest.

“Go fetch your brother, Dean. You have all the data in your mail.”

The mentor’s tone was grim. Dean left home three minutes later, he didn’t even bother playing any music on the Impala. He was not on the mood and if he overspeed most of the way, he couldn’t care less. Sam was in danger and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect him. He shouldn’t have left him go on his own. Anybody else could have done that mission, they could’ve sent a team or three.

He ignored the little voice saying that if Sam had failed, if something had gone wrong, a team or three wouldn’t have been enough. They should have gone together. They would be home now, safe and healthy, and he wouldn’t be shivering on the streets, hiding in plain sight and finding the best entrance to the building.

 

The day Sam vanished, though, they found nothing. They found no blood, no prints, no security footage. The warehouse was empty, the alarm system deactivated and none of the tracking methods worked.

The day after Sam was lost, Dean met the Trickster in a shady office building. He saw the fear in the other man’s face, the way his breath sped up even if just a little. The Trickster promised his success and asked for no payment in return. Dean didn’t ask any more questions. He’d seen the way he and Sam moved around each other, unexpected as it was, and even if he didn’t trust the ex-templar as far as he could throw him, Sam had never been one to trust easily. Or maybe he was, but Dean only cared about getting him back.

He also knew that if Bobby ever learnt of his next step, he’d be forced to leave the Brotherhood. Bobby was a father to Dean, but some lines even he shouldn’t cross. He wouldn’t have done it for any other reason, so he just hoped Bobby would be merciful.

Dean and Castiel hadn’t talked for a week, since Castiel had left. The address had sat untouched over the desk for seven days, but the Black Cross and his trenchcoat were now his last resort. It was just shy of twelve o’clock, the sun blazing on the warmest day they’d had in months. He went into the office building barely faking calmness and requested access to the office he’d written on a new paper.

“It’s a pressing matter.” He told the man in charge of the greetings, and he nodded soon enough. The elevator was too slow for his liking. Too slow, too small, too dark. On a better day Dean would have worn better clothes, something less distinctive, but he’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours. He barely saw the attack coming, he had no way to protect himself from the hit. One moment he was leaving the elevator, another he just felt pain.

 

  
When Dean awoke he found himself in an empty room, hands cuffed to a chair, and the usual dizziness of a hit in the head left him groaning for a second or so. Then the memories came back, fast and lacking any semblance of order, and he moved on autopilot: he had already slipped one of the cuffs when something, maybe someone, hit the door. It held once, then whoever that was trying to come in chose to use a key.

The Assassin had seen Castiel in battle twice before, but those times he’d been calm and collected. Now he was furious and it showed in the way he threw a man twice his size against the nearest wall. Dean would have taken a step back, had he not been still chained to the freaking chair, but the moment the templar’s gaze fell on him, Cas’ scowl softened.

“Are you as bad as you look?”

Dean glared at him. “How long have I been here?”

The Black Cross walked toward him, but Dean had already slipped the second cuff. The moment he tried to walk everything got blurry and Cas barely got there in time to hold him.

“An hour.”

“It felt longer.” Dean complained. “Where are you taking me?” His own voice felt weak in his ears. “Where I am?”

“I’m taking you to my office.” Cas muttered. “You are in my dungeon.”

“What the…” Trust a templar to have a dungeon on an office building. On another time and day he would have been at least slightly worried about having been in such dungeon, for starters, but the only concern on his mind was Sam.

At least Cas had the decency to apologize. “My men acted against orders.” He muttered. “Did you come here to kill me?”

Dean blinked. Then looked at the body on the ground. “That…”

The templar met his gaze, as cool as ever. “My subordinate. He’s alive for now.”

“Thought you were a good boss, Cas.” Dean mumbled. “I… need your help.”

 

The corridor was empty and cold, only an elevator on the farthest corner. It was bigger, nicer and cooler than the one Dean had seen before. Go figure, his templar liked luxury. Not that Cas was his, really, but maybe he liked him a lot better than all his other enemies. Maybe they even had an unspoken agreement about not killing each other. Maybe Dean managed to relax as the Black Cross inspected his wrists and helped him sit on the black couch of a pristine high-ranking templar office.

“There are no cameras here.” He muttered, sitting across Dean. “And we both need to talk.”

Dean shook his head. “They have Sam. They have him.” He breathed.

And Castiel, for the first time since Dean had known him, looked away.

“I know.”

Dean’s whole world came crashing down. “No.” He breathed. “No. You’re lying. Cas, tell me you’re lying.”

“I am not.”

There was a weight on Dean’s chest, an itch on his throat and something that looked like emptiness lodging itself around his heart. “Why?” _I trusted you._ He wanted to say. _I liked you._

“It is necessary. I cannot allow you to rescue him.”

“But why?” And Dean had never been so aware of how unarmed he was. They had taken away his hidden blade, he hadn’t even noticed. “Please tell me why.”

He knew he couldn’t fight Castiel and hope to win, not as weak as he was now, but he’d still try. He had to know the reason behind his betrayal, though, only then he’d be able to live with himself afterwards.

Castiel sighed. “I suppose there’s no harm in you knowing it. After all, you will not leave this room today.” He muttered. “Your brother, both of you, are of a certain bloodline that allows you to open the Temple of Juno. Abstergo has found it, no matter our efforts to avoid such an outcome, and they chose to kidnap your brother.” He added, after a beat.

Dean blinked, trying and failing to check his fury. “Then why don’t you stop them?” He asked. “You can stop them. I can stop them. Will you let them win?” Dean couldn’t believe those words. He didn’t want to.

Castiel rose up and faced the enormous window on the furthest wall. That was the whole office: a window, the couch, a drawer and a desk with two very expensive chairs. It didn’t feel like Cas. Maybe Dean had never known Cas.

“I hope Sam survives.” He sighed. “We have dispatched men more capable than I am and today, if everything goes according to the plan, the Templar Order will gain possession of the Temple of Juno and the artifacts that reside within.”

“The Brotherhood will stop you, Cas.” He’d stop Cas himself. He rose up, he took a shaky step.

Castiel turned around. “I will ensure your protection, Dean, that’s all I can do. And your brother’s, if he survives.”

He looked guilty, or maybe Dean was imagining things. It didn’t really matter.

“Are you really gonna let Abstergo enslave the world because of some misguided sense of duty?” He nearly yelled. “What if your mighty warriors fail? What if Sam dies?” He breathed. “Are you really going to stay here and do nothing?” Dean took a shaky breath. Another step. “How will you live with yourself after tonight?”

Cas didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll have to. I have no other choice.” He lay his hand on the window. “I see the world, Dean, and all I see is pain and suffering. This is our chance to build a better world.”

“A world of slaves?” Dean snarled. “A world of cardboard people all dancing to your tune? You know where you can shove that world of yours.”

The Black Cross had turned around, Dean took his shoulder and forced him to turn again and face him.

“Don’t give me all that crap about being the good little soldier, Cas. I don’t want your peace or your justice, I’ll take the pain and suffering everyday.” He searched for the templar’s gaze. “There’s a right and there’s a wrong here, and you know it.” He pleaded. “So please help me. You’ve helped me before, you’ve saved my life, don’t tell me those days didn’t mean anything to you.”

He searched for the templar’s forearm, he grabbed his hand. Cas didn’t pull away, he just closed his eyes.

“What would you have me do, Dean?” He breathed.

The assassin’s heard did a small backflip. “Get me to Sam.” He begged. “We can stop this before it’s too late.”

Castiel drew a shaky breath. “I do that, we will all be hunted. We’ll all be killed.”

“If there’s anything worth dying for, Cas, this is it.” Dean pleaded.

The templar looked away, then shook his head.

Dean found himself taking a step back, clenching his fists. So that’s how it was going to be, wasn’t it?

“You spineless coward.” He growled, turning around and walking away. “What do you care about the world? You are already a slave, aren’t you?” He expected no answer, he got none. “We’re done.”

“Dean…”

His voice didn’t waver. “We’re done.”

The soft click of the door was the only notice when Castiel left.

 

 

Dean waited for what felt like ages. He had to leave that room, no matter how tired he was, but wherever he looked he found nothing that could help him force open the door. The window, tall as it was, had the sheen of reinforced glass. He’d already tried to break the door open with both chairs, though, and the desk was way too heavy.

So he stopped and thought. Sooner or later somebody would come in there, even if it was only to bring him food or water, if Castiel could even be trusted to do that. Dean’s watch was broken, but the light that came from the window was enough to give away the time. Bobby would kill him if the templars didn’t do it first.

The afternoon was fading when the door finally opened. Dean’s senses barely registered it, there was no time to rise up when a hand in a glove forced his mouth shut. The stranger met his eyes and Dean realized two very worrying details at the same time: the stranger was Cas, dressed in his full templar attire, a red cross over his right shoulder. Oh, and he was carrying a pretty scary knife.

The eyes were all Cas, though, and the look on his face was unmistakable. Dean nodded, Cas took his hand away and then, without sparing a look towards the chairs, opened the desk drawers and brought Dean his weapons.

“Follow me.” He demanded, his face grim. “Time is of the essence.”

Dean took a doubtful step. “Are you going to help me, Cas?” He whispered, battling the hope.

Castiel just nodded, Dean didn’t need anything else.

 

  
The corridors were littered with bodies, dead or alive that didn’t matter, and another figure dressed in black awaited them at the top of the stairs. He’d covered the lower half of his face with a dark scarf and the shadows hid his eyes, but Dean recognized himself nonetheless.

“Winchester.” The Trickster breathed, a small greeting, and then turned to Castiel. “Brother.”

Cas simply nodded again and they rushed upstairs. And whatever that Dean had been expecting, a battle helicopter hadn’t factored in his plans.

“It’s the only way we’ll get to the airport on time.” Cas muttered, and Dean drew a breath. Right, a plane. How wonderful

But hey, trust the templars to have a fleet and trust the Trickster to know how to pilot them. The flight to the airport was nothing short of terrifying, even with Cas’s calming presence besides him, and the moment they rushed to board a little black plane, Dean’s guts did a backflip. But they needed to save Sam.

“We’ll be there on time.” Gabriel muttered, taking his seat at the commands. “We have to be. Damn Winchesters.”

Dean was going to make a comment when Castiel pointed to a crate behind them. The plane had enough space for six or seven people, there were too many red crosses on sight and the seats were probably as expensive as Dean’s garage.

“The moment we’re on air, I need you to change to something more conspicuous. If you’re seen like you are now, they will fire. We need to get through the blockade as soon as possible.”

Dean didn’t want to know which kind of clothes Cas was referring to, but he most certainly wanted to get on something cleaner. “How long do we have?”

“About an hour. The showers are behind the second door.”

Dean sighed. Of course the freaking templar plane had showers. How that even worked, he didn’t want to know. And he’d been right about the clothes, too: the moment Cas let him get up, having closed his eyes for most of the takeoff, he found out that Castiel’s idea of adequate clothing consisted on the kind of black multi-pocketed trousers he usually wore, a bulletproof vest and a black shirt. He also got military boots, gloves that didn’t interfere with the hidden blade and a black scarf. Nothing remotely similar to a hood, but at least it was clean. Dean didn’t want to think about how he now looked like a templar, about the way Cas also did, having discarded the brown trenchcoat in favor of a longer black one.

Gabriel’s voice was tight through the speakers. “I’ve also alerted the Brotherhood about the Temple’s location. They probably won’t be there on time, but if you are to approach them, Dean, be careful. ”

Yeah. Not even Bobby would recognize him now.

 

The next hour and a half was just a blur in Dean’s mind. They left the plane, they took a car and then Gabriel drove them through some kind of desert. There were three other cars parked near some kind of underground stair that looked completely out of place and Cas gunned down the three men that were on guard duty before they could alert their organization. No Assassins on sight, but that was to be expected.

And then Gabriel ran downstairs, and Cas and Dean were forced to keep his pace as he rushed through the corridors. They had no time to admire the paintings, the flickering blue lighting that didn’t anyway look electrical but was obviously man-made, because what else could it be, nor the statues or the strange chiseled rock that was the ceiling.

No, they only stopped before the greatest of the rooms, a door across the corridor, the flickering light of a golden little sphere in the hands of an average-looking blond man. Bodies, way too many bodies, littered the floor, and then Dean saw Sam.

His steps were short, dubitative, but he pressed a hand to the door. Gabriel yelled. Cas ran, Dean ran, one of the bodies moved. Someone shot.

And then the door creaked and the wall opened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger.
> 
> Just kidding, I am not. But thank you so much for the kudos, the comments, the bookmarks... I'd never expected to get such a reaction <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's Monday again, yay :D

Time froze around them the way it usually does when mind and body can’t really agree about the situation at hand. What was Sam doing? Dean couldn’t believe that his brother would ever betray the Brotherhood (unlike Dean himself may have just done), but all the signs were pointing that way. 

Then Dean saw the light, a little core of power humming and emitting a warm golden glow, and everything clicked. He’d never seen a Golden Apple up close, but he’d read enough to know that the best way to stop their effects was to stop he who was wielding it. So Dean jumped, a shadow dressed like a templar, flicking his wrist so that the hidden dagger would spring and meet the blond man in his way to Death. 

Cas didn’t yell, his training way too good for that mistake, but his face was one of pure terror as he sprinted towards them. 

The blond man turned around, smiling, and suddenly Dean found himself unable to move. His hands went still, his legs failed him and when he fell he did so gracelessly, unable to take his eyes away from the Apple of Eden. 

“Oh, surprise, surprise.” And the blond man’s voice was calm and collected, maybe even too gleeful. 

Castiel stopped dead on his tracks, but before anyone could speak, the Trickster took his clue and joined the main party. 

“Lucian.” He called, his hands on the pockets of his coat. “I hadn’t really expected to see you again.” 

The Trickster was smirking and a second later the blond man turned around and the barest hint of a smile crossed his eyes. 

“¿Gabriel?” He asked. 

Sam twitched. The door rumbled again. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw two shadows on the edge of the clearing, invisible for all but the trained eye, and his heart sank. One of the shadows he recognized as Garth, maybe the most nervous of those in the Brotherhood, and the second shadow wasn’t even dressed for battle, but the third… Dean shivered. 

The last time Bobby had gone on a mission was before Dean became a full member, many years ago. The time had been dire, the Brotherhood had been compromised and Bobby had dealt with the traitor by himself. Dean couldn’t help a shiver of fear, and then he heard the shoot. 

He’d expected to feel pain, he’d been shot in the past (more than once), but the pain didn’t come. There was a flash of light, the body next to him started twitching and Dean found himself able to move once more. He turned around to find Lucian on a knee, his leg bloody. He’d been shot by the non-assassin newcomer, but that didn’t really matter anymore. Dean took his chance and as soon as he got to his feet, the battle started again. 

The not-really-dead templar body drew a sword and lunged towards Lucian, Gabriel ran towards Sam and for a second Dean doubted his next step. Then some of the bodies started moving, one tried to shoot Cas and Dean ganked him. 

His templar nodded his thanks. “The Apple.” He added. 

Dean huffed. Of course. Near the door, Gabriel was holding Sam and trying to keep him from touching the door again. Sam’s movements were slow and sloppy, but he was still a big man.

“Cas, protect Sam.” Dean asked. There were about a dozen people, not including Assassins. The Apple was not on sight. An enemy tried to shoot him, Dean shot first. Eleven people. Somebody fell next to him. Ten. Bobby killed two men. Eight. Cas showed off. Seven. A templar tried to jump on Bobby. Dean tackled him. Six. 

And then Bobby pointed a gun at Dean. 

Dean could barely roll and get up on time, but it was enough for Bobby to see his face, not just his clothes. And the Mentor froze. 

“Dean?” He asked, his voice cracking. “You better have a damn good reason to be dressed like that.” He added, his voice harsh.

Dean took a step back, ducking to avoid an attack. Garth shot. Dean flashed him a thanks, took another step back and then the man who had been fighting Lucian threw a dagger towards Bobby. Dean’s reaction was instinctive: he pounced on Bobby, dragged Garth to the ground and the dagger barely missed him. 

Lucian was suddenly on the man again. Another templar appeared, maybe the last of the minions, and then Cas behind him, shooting him point blank. 

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the clang of two swords. Cas hauled Dean to his feet, his gaze always on the two men still fighting. Sam and Gabriel were still crouched near the door, still closing itself, and Sam had his head on his hands. Then Dean turned to look at Bobby and found himself with a dagger to his neck. 

“I want an explanation, boy.” Bobby snarled. “Now. Garth, find the Apple.” He barked. “You two, don’t move.” 

Dean felt Cas tensing by his side. The moment the templar tried to step between him and Bobby, though, Dean stopped him. 

“We were running out of options, and my clothes were ruined.” Was the best he could muster. 

Bobby grunted, he didn’t really have time for much more. 

With a yell, Lucian threw himself to the ground. Garth jumped not long after, even Gabriel pounced on the now-glowing metallic sphere. Garth kicked Lucian in the face, Gabriel tried to twist his arm and then the glow became blinding. 

Half a second later Lucian got on his feet, his injuries now gone, and Garth and Gabriel fell to the ground with a deaf thump. 

“Now, Michael, I win.” Lucian gloated. 

The other man, Michael, sneered. His face was bloody and bruised, one of his arms was limp, but his eyes were still blazing. 

“Never.”

They would have kept with the cliché movie dialog, that was probably their plan, but they hadn’t accounted for Sam. 

The Assassin was crouched behind Lucian and Michael, silent and still, a hand holding the stone door in place. His eyes were glowing faintly with a pale blue sheen, his expression determined. And the moment Lucian started gloating again, Sam grabbed his right foot and pulled. 

Lucian’s laugh was cut short, his eyes widened, he grasped at Michael’s shirt and held there. Sam, his expression marble, didn’t let go. The door creaked, Michael kicked at Lucian’s face. Sam grunted. Then, taking Michael’s move as a good example, kicked both templars on their chests and let go of the door. 

Gabriel barely got there on time to grab Sam and save him from the templar’s destiny, the door falling shut with a deafening roar. 

Then Sam fainted, Cas fell to his knees and Dean, exhausted as he was, had to argue with himself in order to get up. 

“What the hell has just happened, Cas?” He mumbled, pulling the templar to his feet. 

Castiel’s form was limp, barely breathing, and held on to Dean like the last piece of wood in a shipwreck. Dean let him, too tired to do otherwise. 

“Many things have happened.” 

 

Bobby sighed, suddenly behind them both while Garth helped Gabriel carry Sam towards the exit of the room. The Mentor looked pensive. 

“We do have many things to discuss, all of us. Castiel, isn’t it?”

Cas nodded, letting go of Dean. “Robert Singer.” 

Bobby’s smile was wry. “I offer you my hospitality, if you’ll take it. Will you come with us?”

After a while Cas dipped his head. “It would be my honor.” 

 

It was Garth who drove them all in Bobby’s ran down van to the safehouse of choice, a little country house with no neighbours and some beat-down cars around. Dean sat just behind Garth, besides Cas and the nervous little civilian they had dragged there for some obscure reason. Sam and the Trickster rode behind them all, Sam mumbling quietly in his sleep with the Trickster draped around his body, asleep as well. 

If anybody had told Dean weeks ago that he’d be sharing his personal space with a Black Cross, of all people, he’d have sent word to Bobby. As of now, he was simply watching the civilian interact with his templar.

“So… you really are a Black Cross?” The man muttered, in awe. 

Cas nodded, his face serious, and then poked the man’s nose with his index finger. “Boop.” He said. 

The man blinked. 

Garth giggled, Bobby shot him a look, Garth stopped giggling. 

 

The first five minutes after their arrival, though, were utter chaos. The safehouse had been kept clean and prepared for use, but settling down seven people was not easy. They didn’t have enough glasses for everybody, much less enough chairs, so Dean gestured to Cas and the templar got up behind him, an extra pair of hands where needed while they searched around the kitchen. They had to settle for mugs, though. 

Only then the real talk begun. 

“What happened at the temple?” 

It was Gabriel, still clutching Sam, who started talking. “This story is as old as Abstergo, maybe even older, but let’s start with the beginning of those deceased.” He dawdled. 

And so he talked about his family. Michael, the now deceased Grand Master of the Templar Order, had been the oldest brother. He’d always been really close to his brother Lucian, but things had gone sour soon enough. Cas was the youngest, he’d sided with Michael. Gabriel had left years before, when Lucian and Michael had decided they’d throw down. 

Lucian had become Abstergo’s chairman with ease, Gabriel had kept most of his own allies and secrets, and he’d kept his existence secret until Sam and Dean had waltzed into his office. At that, Castiel had looked away. 

“I thought you were dead, Gabriel.” 

“And I thought you were brother’s little soldier. I didn’t want to fight you.” 

At that, Cas didn’t answer, and the conversation turned towards the Assassin side of the room. 

“We got the Trickster’s message, but we were already researching the temple. Kevin’s time in the Animus was enough to give us a faintly good idea about where to start looking.” Garth told them.

They hadn’t expected, truth be told, to find Dean in there fighting besides the templars. Bobby was angry, that much Dean could tell, but he was taking the truth with quite some calm.

“And what will you two do, now that everything has finished?” 

Dean met Bobby’s gaze without flinching. “My loyalty has never left the Brotherhood.”

“And your templar?” 

Castiel sighed. “I had left my office with no expectations to return. Michael is now dead, so that changes things a lot.”

Gabriel let out a raspy laugh. “The templars are without a leader, and I am dead to the world. You can take charge, Cassie, or let our cousin do it. I’m in a very bad political position to do it myself.”

Castiel tensed. Silence seized the room. And them, after a few seconds, he relaxed. “I will so consider.” Then he looked at Bobby. “If I were to take charge of the Templar Order, Robert Singer, would you be amenable to negotiate a truce?” 

The Mentor grunted. “I would consider it.” 

 

Dean was the one to drive Cas back to the city, well after midnight. The conversation had devolved into politics and economy, mainly between Gabriel and Bobby, but Castiel usually dropped his views on the matter. Dean hadn’t dozed off, but it had been a near miss. So when they called it a day, Dean and Cas drove in one of their comfortable silences. 

The moment Cas left the car, though, Dean grabbed his coat. 

“I don’t like chick flick moments, but I want to thank you. For everything. ” 

Cas blinked, taken off guard, drawing that self-conscious smile Dean rarely saw him sport. And then the Templar took his hand, eternally careful, and kissed his fingers. “It’s been an honor, Dean.”

The Assassin felt himself blush. He debated going back to the car, leaving and finding some new Abstergo employee to kill, but then he chose. He chose Cas, he grabbed the back of his head and felt him tense under his touch, felt him relax when their lips met. 

Dean kissed his templar for the first time. And Castiel, Black Cross of the Templar Order, kissed back.


End file.
